


The Mistakes You Keep

by Skeiler



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Too Much Plot Too Little Porn, porn what porn/plot without porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeiler/pseuds/Skeiler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Study Abroad AU: Steve is doing his MFA in London and Bucky is along for the ride. They both have a thing for their neighbour Peggy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this was originally "THE MAILMAN DELIVERED A PACKAGE (sEX TOYSSS) TO THE WRONG HOUSE AU" and it's kind of gone on from there.
> 
> The title comes from the quote "Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep."

Peggy knocked at the door with her usual brisk efficiency— _rap, rap, rap._   She adjusted the strap of her purse as it threatened to fall off her shoulder and shifted the package she was carrying to her other hand. After a beat of several seconds, she began to consider knocking again. Just as she raised her hand to do so, the door pulled open and she found herself looking up at one of her neighbours.

“Ah, hello,” she began. The neighbour looked down at her curiously with his distractingly blue eyes, ringed by lush blonde lashes. Peggy had so been hoping the door would be answered by the other occupant of Flat 4, the dark-haired one she didn’t have a desperate crush on. “I’m dreadfully sorry about this, but the postman left this package in my box and I’m afraid I opened it before I realised it wasn’t addressed to me.”

Peggy held the opened package out to her neighbour. He smiled winsomely at her as he took it, a slightly crooked smile that made Peggy feel faintly flush, much to her chagrin. “It’s okay, no harm no foul.”

One of Peggy’s eyebrows quirked upwards questioningly. She guessed he had no idea what was in the box. “No. No harm.”

Over her neighbour’s shoulder, she saw his flatmate round the corner and approach. She watched both of them with curiosity. She’d been idly flirting with the blonde one every time they crossed paths in the foyer, and she’d been reasonably certain he was as much interested in her as she in him until she’d opened the erstwhile package. Her eyes met the dark-haired man’s and watched as he scanned her face up and down. Their eyes met again and Peggy gave him a steely stare. Neither blinked for many long moments, both unwilling to back down from a fight.

They stared at each other for so long, in fact, that Peggy missed the blonde man opening the package until he made a sound reminiscent of a squeak. Peggy broke the stalemate with the dark-haired man and saw that the blonde was blushing to the roots of his fair hair. Behind him, the dark-haired one gave a long, loud laugh, which only served to make his flatmate whirl around and stalk past him into the flat.

“Well,” Peggy said. “I’m guessing he isn’t James Barnes.”

The dark-haired man—Barnes, Peggy guessed— came forward and leaned against the doorframe, his arm raised over his head so that his shirt pulled upwards enough to expose a sliver of flesh across his hip. Peggy did not fail to notice that, or the way his lips curled upwards. “Nah,” he replied, “I’m James Barnes. Bucky to my friends. He’s Steve Rogers.”

“Peggy Carter. I live in Flat 1,” she replied.

“I know,” Barnes replied. “I’ve seen your mail in the hallway.”

“Oh, really?” Peggy asked. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight, the muscles in her cheeks contracting as she gritted her teeth. She did not like the idea that Barnes, whom she had never spoken to before and rarely seen at all, had figured out her name and which of the six flats in the building she lived in.

“I take an interest in the girls Steve flirts with,” Barnes replied.

“Does he flirt with many girls?”

“No,” Barnes replied. “Just you.”

Peggy ducked her head to hide a smile. “Your friend didn’t seem too pleased by your, ah. Purchase.”

Barnes’ roguish smile was broken momentarily by another laugh. “No, Steve’s the kind of sweetheart who’s still scandalised by the very mention of sex. I’m trying to break him out of his shell a bit. Otherwise he might never ask you out on a date.”

Their eyes met again. “And why would you be interested in whether or not Steve asks me out?”

Something flickered across Barnes’ face, but got lost as he repositioned himself to cross his arms. His eyes dropped to the ground and rose slowly in the most frank appraisal of her body Peggy had ever encountered. When Barnes’ eyes met hers again, he shrugged. “I just want Steve to be happy. And if he doesn’t ask you, I will. I’ve gotta give him a fair shot.”

Peggy took a step back and gave Barnes the same blatant valuation he had given her. It didn’t seem to phase Barnes at all. Peggy nodded to him and turned to head downstairs. She’d made it halfway to the next landing when Barnes, without moving from the doorway and without looking down at her, called out, “Hey, invite us over for dinner?”

Peggy turned around and looked back at him. “Both of you?”

“Yeah, it had better be both of us,” Barnes replied as he leant ever so slightly forward to meet her eyes again. “Steve doesn’t know a damn thing about talking to women, having just him over would make for a pretty dull conversation.”

Peggy glanced down the stairs towards her own door. “Tomorrow, then. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next day dawned bright and hot, unusually so for this late in an English summer. Peggy spent the morning cleaning up the flat. As a rule, Peggy kept her space clean, but if she was going to have guests she wanted it to be _immaculate_. She tidied away bills and magazines that had accumulated on the table, and shifted the furniture in the front room so that she could pull the table out of its forlorn corner and seat more than just her. Most of the detritus of her life piled about her bedroom got shoved into dresser drawers or the wardrobe to prevent anyone happening to glance into it as they went into the bathroom from thinking she was a slob. A quick scrub around the bathroom and kitchen and a brief hoover later, Peggy looked around and decided that she wouldn’t be embarrassed if her mother decided to drop by.

In the kitchen, Peggy surveyed the list she’d made the night before of the things she planned to serve for the two Americans. Caramelised onion and goat’s cheese tarts. Slow-cooked lamb shanks with honey-roasted root vegetables and roast potatoes. Rhubarb and strawberry gateau for dessert. And wine. Something white and something red—chablis and Beaujolais, maybe. She had a decent port wine and a lovely sherry for after dinner, and enough gin and tonic to sink a ship.

Peggy bit her lip as she leant over the list on the kitchen counter, calculating in her head how much time it would take to prepare everything. She started laying out everything she’d need—plates, knives, forks, spoons, glasses, casserole dishes and platters—and lining them up along the counter. Nothing matched—her collection of plates and glasses was a hodgepodge of things left to her by her grandmother or given to her by her mother. But somehow the mess hung together charmingly. She boiled the kettle and sat down at the small table shoved in the space between the counter’s edge and the fridge where other people might have such a luxurious item as a dishwasher to listen to Radio 4’s 15 Minute Drama.

The latest instalment broadcast unheeded by Peggy Carter. As she sipped her rich builder’s tea, she ran over the conversation she’d had yesterday with James Barnes. Her finger traced the edge of her mug as her eyes fixated on the dappled effect of shaded sunlight on the wall.

_“And why would you be interested in whether or not Steve asks me out?”_

Maybe Peggy was making too much of nothing, but she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else to the way Barnes had broken eye contact with her after she asked that question, to the way his voice had sounded ever-so-slightly hard-edged when he replied. She watched the shifting shadows on the wall as her mind latched onto the memory of a sliver of soft flesh above his trousers’ waistband. James Barnes was very different from his friend, the gentle blonde giant. When _he_ smiled at Peggy, it was somewhat sweetly scared—Steve Rogers flirted like he didn’t understand that was what was happening, like there was no way a beautiful girl like Peggy would be seriously interested in him. Hope touched with the acceptance of inevitable rejection. It was bashful and kind and it made Peggy want to push him down onto the table in the hallway outside her door and kiss his lush lips. James Barnes was a man who had too much self-confidence—Peggy couldn’t decide whether she wanted to slap the self-satisfaction out of him or let him push her down on the hall table and kiss her with his insolent smear of a mouth.

Peggy took a sip of her tea and found that it had gone cold. She grimaced as she forced down the mouthful, then rose and poured the remnants down the sink. The echo of her grandmother’s voice resounded in her head, ‘You shouldn’t waste all that tea and milk and sugar, Peggy. There’s a war on, rations. Oh goodness, listen to me—the war ended sixty years ago, what am I saying.’ Peggy sighed sadly and twisted her grandmother’s ring on her finger.

It didn’t take long for Peggy to gather up her list and her keys and her purse. She had never understood why it took so many women _so long_ to get ready to leave their house. But in this, as in so many other things, Peggy valued time-efficiency over all things. As she slid her flats on she glanced in the mirror hanging by the front door and briefly considered going and putting on some makeup, but that seemed like a waste since she would be showering later before getting dressed for dinner.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway and heard the Yale lock catch behind her, she regretted that choice.

Steve Rogers jumped slightly when the door closed, even though Peggy had the strange feeling—generated by something about the way he was standing there, fidgeting with his fingers—that he’d been standing there for a while, waiting for her to come out. Or for the courage to knock on her door. They stared at each other for a little too long, until finally Peggy sighed internally and mentally rolled her eyes.

“Hi,” she said, extending her right hand. “I’m Peggy. I guess you’re Steve Rogers—we’ve never met properly.”

Steve inhaled sharply and nodded, his lips pursing together slightly. “Yes, I’m Steve. It’s really nice to meet you. Finally. For real.”

Peggy watched as he went back to picking at the soft flesh where his fingers met—long, strong, ridiculously pretty fingers—and waited for him to say something else. When Steve kept looking at her nervously with an expression that could only be described as “nervous golden retriever puppy,” Peggy put on her winsomest smile and began to indicate that she was just off out.

“I’m really sorry about yesterday,” Steve exhaled in a rush. “I had no idea… Bucky… Uh. I’m really sorry that you had to see… that.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Peggy replied. Steve’s eyes went a little wide and she saw a flush creep up the sides of his ridiculously attractive neck, just brushing his delightfully American jaw. “Your friend says he is trying to ‘broaden your horizons.’”

“Yeah, that’s what he says,” Steve responded, sighing in a relaxed way that seemed to indicate the action was a well-worn habit.

“You must be pretty close,” Peggy ventured, “for him to know he can get away with something that makes you uncomfortable.”

Steve smiled a weary half-smile, the curve of it creeping up his cheek. He crossed his arms and leant his weight on the hall table—the same one Peggy had been contemplating earlier. The action made her feel like some invisible hand had reached out and grabbed her by the sternum, and started to pull her inexorably towards him. Steve had shifted his gaze away from her to the floor, and Peggy took the opportunity to stare unabashedly at his lips as they moved.

“We’ve known each other since we were real little,” Steve explained. “Grew up chasing each other around playing X-men with the other neighbourhood kids, went to the same school. We’ve been best friends since as far back as I can remember.”

“And now you live together in London.”

Steve nodded and smiled his bashful smile, looking up at her through his lashes. The shy wholesomeness of his look made Peggy very aware of her breathing, and of the tidal feeling of the pulling sensation in her chest.

“And now we live together in London,” Steve agreed.

Peggy smiled. “I’m just off out to buy things for dinner tonight. I hope you’re both coming?”

Steve looked suddenly horrifically apologetic. “I’m sorry if Bucky roped you into that if you didn’t want to. I mean, I’d hate to impose.”

“I would be delighted to have you both to dinner,” Peggy replied with a laugh. “I had been thinking of inviting you over for a bit, actually—to welcome you to London.”

“Oh well. Thanks. I guess I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” Peggy responded. She pulled open the building’s front door and turned to glance back over her shoulder at Steve as she stepped through. Their eyes met again, briefly, before Peggy slipped out and pulled the door closed behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

It was nearly half-two when Peggy got back to her flat. She dumped the heavy assortment of shopping bags on the floor and started unloading the Marks & Sparks boxes into the fridge. Peggy’s mother had always told her that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but cooking had never been something that Peggy had taken to. It had always seemed like a moot point when Marks & Spencer sold so many delicious things that tasted far better than anything Peggy had ever managed to produce, and took so much less time. As she slotted each box into a free space in her fridge, Peggy took a moment to go over the heating instructions and jot down on a notepad how long they’d need in the oven and which dish she should use for which item.

When everything was put away, Peggy crossed over to the sink and filled the kettle to make another cup of tea. While she waited for it to boil, she pulled apart the lace curtains covering the small window over the sink and looked out into the back garden. She was surprised to see activity out there—someone clearing out the old garden shed at the other end. A variety of old and obviously rusted gardening equipment was piled outside the open shed doors, along with several broken pots and half-full bags of fertiliser. Peggy had lived in her flat for nearly five years—since graduating from university—and she couldn’t remember anyone ever using the shed.

A large piece of broken pottery sailed out of the shed’s doors and landed a few feet from the far side of the pile.

“You missed, Stevie!” shouted a voice.

Peggy pushed herself up on tiptoes and peered out the window to see Barnes sitting shirtless in one of the grubby old plastic lounge chairs on the terrace outside her kitchen door. Peggy smiled. She started hunting around in the kitchen drawers to find the key to her back door, something she hadn’t ever actually used. She found it at the back of the drawer holding all her tea towels. She poured two cups of tea from the boiled kettle and stepped out onto the terrace.

Barnes craned his head around to look back at her over the tops of his sunglasses.

“Heya, gorgeous,” he purred at her.

Peggy rolled her eyes at him as she handed a mug to him, before pulling the other lounge chair closer. “Tea? I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“Any way you wanna give it,” Barnes drawled. He took the mug and sipped the hot liquid, running his tongue over his lips as he pulled it away. Peggy tried hard not to notice that. “It’s good. Thanks.”

Peggy brushed as much of the dirt off the lounge chair as she could manage, then wiped her hand on her jeans and sat down. She could see Barnes watching her out of the corner of her eye and after taking a sip of tea she nodded in the direction of the shed. “What’s going on there?”

“The landlord said Steve could use it as a studio if he cleaned all the old junk out,” Barnes explained, turning back to watch another broken piece of pottery sail onto the pile.

“A studio?” Peggy asked.

“Yeah, for his art,” Barnes explained off-handedly. Then he seemed to sense the way that Peggy arched an eyebrow at his non-explanation and elaborated, “Steve’s here doing an MFA. He paints.”

“Really? What does he paint?”

Barnes shrugged. “Lots of things, but Steve’s pretty secretive about his art. Hence the need for a studio. I only get to see things when they’re finished and hanging up in a gallery.”

Peggy laughed. At that moment Steve emerged from the shed carrying a large stone birdbath. He changed since Peggy had seen him earlier, into a pair of gym trousers and a tight-fitting t-shirt. Both Peggy and Barnes tilted their heads in unison as Steve carefully squatted and dropped the birdbath onto the ground. He stood and moved to pick up the pottery that had missed the pile, bending from his hips to grab it.

“Nice ass, Rogers!” Barnes yelled. Peggy couldn’t help but stifle a giggle. Steve turned around to say something—probably quite pointed—to his friend, but froze when he saw Peggy sitting there. She tried to hide her smile in by taking a gulp of her tea. “Show us those guns, man—give us a show.”

Steve flushed and stalked back inside the shed. Barnes whistled after him. Peggy kept her eyes on the shed, but was keenly aware of the shirtless Barnes at the edge of her vision. She sipped her tea and wondered, again, what sort of relationship existed between these two men. Immigration reform had sent many of her American friends from university back to their country, and Peggy was dimly aware of the increasing difficulty of obtaining even a visa to study in the UK—how was Barnes here? In order for Steve to sponsor him on a student visa, it would require that they be married, which wasn’t unheard of. Peggy covertly glanced at Barnes’ left hand where it rested on the lounge chair’s arm and cradled his mug of tea, even while she thought that the presence or absence of a ring could be misleading.

The sun made the air in the little back garden hot and sultry. Peggy could feel the sheen of sweat on her skin, and see the way Barnes’ arm glistened when he raised the mug to his mouth. Steve emerged again from the shed with an old wheelbarrow which seemed to be rusted through. The front wheel had gone flat and Steve propelled it towards the junk pile carefully. Peggy found herself entranced by the way his muscles moved under his shirt.

“Were you serious,” she began, turning to fix her eyes on Barnes, “when you said that if Steve didn’t ask me out, you would?”

Barnes kept watching Steve for several long moments before turning towards her. His eyes were masked by the sunglasses he kept on. “Yes. Why?”

“I just get the impression… No, nevermind.”

“What impression do you get?” Barnes asked quietly.

Peggy turned back to where Steve was loading the broken wheelbarrow with the bits of broken pottery. “That you would rather date Steve than me.”

Barnes also turned to watch Steve. For a moment they sat in silence, and Peggy wondered if she’d ventured too far, until Barnes remarked, “What if I want to have my cake and eat it too?”

Peggy’s head swung around and she found Barnes wearing an insolent smirk. Peggy’s eyebrows raised significantly as she considered this idea. “Do you really think your friend would feel that same way? Is that what the horizon-broadening is about?”

Barnes gave a harsh laugh. “Steve doesn’t have any idea what he wants. Guy’s got the body of Michelangelo’s David and every girl who meets him falls for his puppy dog eyes, but Steve isn’t wired to confront the baser aspects of human relationships. He’s still flabbergasted you want to speak to him after yesterday.”

Peggy let out a laugh. “You mean he’s prudish.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

They sat in silence for a bit and watched Steve finish loading the wheelbarrow. He squinted at the sky and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Well,” Peggy said as she stood. “I’m glad we chatted.”

Barnes watched her over the top of his sunglasses, his eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Peggy replied as she plucked the mug from Barnes’ hand and ran her eyes over his shirtless torso. “I really hate having to make choices.” Barnes’s face split into a rogueish grin. “Now come inside and get a glass of water to take to Steve. Tell him he can return it this evening.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barnes chirped as he jumped up and followed her into her flat.


End file.
